


the little things

by bertee



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drinking, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-04
Updated: 2012-04-04
Packaged: 2017-11-11 09:16:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/476970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bertee/pseuds/bertee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean goes off on a tangent about Castiel's mouth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the little things

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Drunkchesters meme.

"I don't get it."

Dean's voice was slurred from his last four measures of scotch, and Sam felt the room swim around his ears as he looked over to where Dean was sitting with his feet propped up on the desk. "Don't get what?"

Dean held up a finger for a brief pause while he burped. "Cas."

Sam frowned. "What don't you get? He took the hallucinations out of my head into his."

Dean waved his hand. "No." He crinkled his nose. "Okay, I don't really get that either but I ain't looking in that gift horse's mouth."

"Am I the gift horse?" Sam asked his scotch.

"Maybe?" Dean furrowed his brow. "No, wait, Cas is the gift horse." He flailed his arm a little in triumph and repeated, "Cas is the gift horse! And he has a mouth. That I don't get."

Fighting his way through the sea of scotch currently filling his head, Sam considered Castiel's mouth. It wasn't like the big leviathan chomp-mouths, which Sam definitely didn't get; it was just a normal, person-mouth. "Why don't you get his mouth?"

"Because an angel shouldn't have a mouth like that," Dean said, sounding personally aggrieved that the universe had allowed Castiel's mouth to come into being. "Right?"

Sam had no strong feelings about Castiel's mouth one way or the other. "Uh, yes?" he guessed. "No. Maybe?" He'd had too much to drink to be fielding difficult questions like this. "I have no idea what the right answer is here, dude."

Dean ignored him as he let out a sigh. "His lips..."

Sam shuffled his chair a few inches away from Dean. "Do you want some privacy while you sigh about Cas' lips?"

"Shut up." Dean muttered. He sloshed his drink clumsily in the glass, apparently not caring how it spilled over onto his fingers. "He's got superpowers. He can time travel and pull people out of Hell and wipe people's minds like that magic light thing from Men in Black. He lives in goddamn Heaven!" he said loudly before slumping back in his chair and looking over at Sam, genuinely confused. "Is there no chapstick in Heaven?"

Sam blinked.

Dean stared at him, evidently waiting for an answer.

"You're complaining about Cas' lips?" he ventured, lost.

"He's an angel!" Dean said again, as though that explained everything. "All the rest of the angels had good lips. Were they hiding the chapstick from him?"

He sounded very sad about this. Sam was a little concerned.

"He was fighting a war, Dean. Maybe he didn't have time to look after his vessel?" he suggested hopefully.

"We fight things every day!" Dean protested. "You still have time to use that fancy nozzle thing on your hairdryer-"

"Diffuser."

"And our eyebrows always look good, and I always find time to use some blistex if I need it." He slapped Sam on the shoulder and said seriously, "We gotta look sharp, Sammy."

"Maybe Cas has different values," Sam hazarded. "I mean, compared to the rest of the angels, he's bad at human stuff. Maybe non-chapped lips are one of the things he doesn't get. Like cell phones, or the appropriate time to put your hand inside someone." 

"But he died!" Dean said. (If Sam was being honest, it was closer to a wail at this point.) "Twice!"

Sam downed some more scotch. "Three times if you count the lake."

"And every time God or the leviathans or whatever else healed every single atom of him."

"I don't think you can heal ato-"

"And what, they couldn't smooth out his lips while they were doing it? "Oh, hey, Sam and Dean, I can resurrect your angel buddy, no sweat, but chapstick is just a step too far"?" Dean took a gulp of scotch and glowered at Sam's shoes. "Assholes."

"You ever wonder if maybe you're thinking too much about this?"

"How'm I not supposed to think about it, man?" Dean said. "The guy's allergic to personal space and his mouth is always right here." He waved his hand in Sam's face in demonstration. "I can't help it."

He dropped his head to the side to rest on Sam's shoulder and let out a melodramatic sigh.

Sam patted him on the head. "It's okay."

"I don't get it," Dean said mournfully. "I just don't get it, Sam."

Given the amount of friends they'd buried over the years, seeing his brother drunk and melancholy wasn't a new experience for Sam. Seeing Dean so melancholy about a lack of chapstick, on the other hand, was strange and unsettling.

"I tried," Dean mumbled. "I offered him some of mine. I kept putting it on in front of him so he'd take the hint."

Sam patted him again as Dean moved closer, slinging his leg clumsily over Sam's. "I'm guessing it didn't take?"

Dean shook his head. "I even put some in his trenchcoat," he said, practically sitting on Sam's lap. "I put some Carmex in every pocket he had. I figured he might get bored one day and give it a shot. Like he did with deodorant. And with jacking off."

"No dice?"

"No dice," Dean repeated sadly. "Christ, his fucking lips, Sam."

Sam didn't think he'd seen him this depressed since Bobby died. Apparently the chappedness of Castiel's lips had grave consequences.

"Hey," he said, coaxing Dean's head up. "He's with Meg now. Maybe she can put some on for him."

Dean brightened at that. "She had nice lips when she kissed me that one time."

"Exactly," Sam said. Maybe there was an upside to Castiel being trapped in a mental institution, after all. "I'm sure Meg's got it covered."

Dean seemed to calm down a little at that. His plump, soft, and entirely unchapped lower lip was still stuck out in a half-pout and Sam couldn't resist leaning in as he asked, "So can I kiss you right now, or...?"

His question was answered when Dean pulled him forward to press their lips together. He climbed astride Sam's lap, both of them too drunk and lazy and uncoordinated to manage anything more than a messy crush of lips and tongue, and Sam let himself sink happily into the hazy contact, satisfied by the warmth of Dean's body against his.

Of all the drunken talks they'd shared, this definitely ranked somewhere in the top five weirdest.


End file.
